#ri's writing

[graynvmbr]

When the Sun Stood Still | Harry Potter

pairing: harry james potter x female!reader (no use of y/n)

summary: first kiss with harry

word count: 766

The soft morning sunlight fills your bedroom, casting a warm glow on everything as you and Harry finish cleaning up after the sleepover. Hermione and Ron are already downstairs, probably chatting with your parents and waiting to floo home. You linger in the bedroom with Harry, folding blankets and tucking away the last remnants of his stuff.

“Thanks for, um, helping out,” he says, brushing a bit of hair out of his face and looking at you a little sheepishly as he shoves the extra mattress to the side. You offer him a smile, nodding as you adjust the sheets on your bed, the sun streaming in through the window casting light and shadows over his face.

“Of course. I think that’s… everything.” Your words trail off as you glance up and find him staring at you, closer than you expected. The air between you seems to still, your heart thudding louder with each second. He’s looking at you with an intensity that makes it feel as if time has slowed down, and your mouth goes dry under his gaze.

In a quick, unexpected motion, Harry closes the distance between you, his eyes softening and then flickering with a kind of bold determination. He leans in, and his lips meet yours, gentle yet charged with a quiet, confident passion. You feel a flash of disbelief, but then the shock melts away, replaced by the warmth of his kiss. Your hands reach up to his shoulders as he moves up to your face, cupping it with a surprising gentleness. His lips press against yours in a way that feels both hesitant and sure all at once, as though he’s been waiting forever for this moment but couldn’t wait a second longer.

His mouth is warm, his breath soft against your skin, and you’re instantly enveloped by the familiar scent of him—treacle tart, warm wood and a touch of pine and cedar. You can feel his glasses brushing your cheek, grounding you in this surreal, dreamlike moment. There’s a heady silence around you, broken only by the faint sound of your breaths mingling.

The kiss is heated, filled with all the unspoken words and stolen glances that have passed between you both these past months. He pulls back only when he has to breathe, leaving you in a daze as you look up at him, feeling like the world has tilted off its axis.

You’re still catching your breath, watching him as he straightens and gives you a soft smile—a look that sends your heart racing all over again. He turns and heads toward the stairs, leaving you flustered and rooted in place. You think he’s going to say something, maybe a goodbye, but he just walks a couple of steps down, then pauses and glances back at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Owl me,” he says, his voice soft but smug. Before you can react, he steps back up, reaches out, and pulls you in for one more kiss—a bit bolder, his lips soft yet insistent as he tilts his head, savoring the moment. It’s a little more lingering this time, his confidence steady and clear, making your head spin even more.

When he finally pulls away, he gives you one last grin, that subtle smirk still tugging at his lips. After the kiss he spins on his heel, leaving you breathless and dumbfounded as he disappears down the stairs as if nothing at all has happened.

You stand there, blinking, replaying the entire exchange in your mind as you try to catch your breath. You can still feel the warm pressure of his lips on yours, the thrilling heat of his touch, and the playful confidence in that parting glance. The smirk, the way he looked at you right before the kiss—all of it loops in your mind, leaving you dazed and unable to move.

A small, disbelieving smile breaks over your face as you run a hand over your lips, trying to shake yourself from the daze. The kiss, his words, his look—all of it still feels too surreal. You realize you should head downstairs; Hermione and Ron are probably waiting, and Harry is surely acting casual, like he didn’t just turn your entire world upside down with a single, impulsive kiss.

But before you head down, you let out a soft laugh, your face flushed as you relive the moment. Harry Potter just kissed me, you think, your heart fluttering wildly at the memory of his lips on yours and that knowing look in his eyes.

back to my harry potter masterlist

[shilo-sumac]

Off-Screen Post :3c Um. Our girlie gets hurt but she'll be fine. :3cccc

Tw for gore, and storms, and general Ocs not being okay and Pokemon being in danger! Please lmk if I need more warnings!

There was no time to think, no warning beforehand, dammit why didn’t I watch the news, why didn’t I pay attention, why weren’t my contingency plans better--

There were some measures of course, but Sinnoh wasn’t a place that was often hit by storms, she hadn’t realized how an island would be different.  Idiot, stupid, irresponsible.

No, can’t dwell.  Only act.  Must act.  Go.

Shilo ran into the darkness, commanding her Pokemon to stay.

There was a shout, drowned out by wind and rain.  Alistair?  She shouted something back, something silly, something disarming.  She wasn’t afraid, not really, at least not about herself.  She would be fine.  She always was fine.  

It was her curse.

She lifted a sleeve to her forehead, peering into the darkness.  She could see better than most at night, but the rain and debris whipped around in thick waves.  She knew the island well, but there were obstacles, so many obstacles.  She climbed over downed trees and scrambled away from mudslides.  

Almost there.

She could see the hatchery, the one building that wasn’t quite protected.  A baby that didn’t know its own strength had weakened a wall, and she had meant to fix it, Gods, she meant to fix it, why didn’t she fucking fix it?

She got to the entrance and scooped up the single egg, pink, tied with a little bow, with a Stufful keychain around it.  The hatchery was starting to flood.  She winced at the expensive incubators, now no better than large paperweights.  

Doesn’t matter, can’t dwell, keep going.  

She slipped it into a makeshift pouch tied around her waist.  Not the best, but good enough for now.

She kicked the door to the room for younglings, almost knocking over the Charmander inside.  She whispered apologies to the crying little one, the water hadn’t reached him yet, thank Time.  She lifted him and put him on her back.  

“Don’t let go no matter what, okay?  We’re getting out, I’ll protect you both.”  It grabbed the collar of her shirt tightly, trying to be brave, trying so hard to not cry.

Out once again into the wailing night, running despite being blinded by the brain.  She knew the way back, knew what was in her way, what to expect.

But the terrain had changed.  She hadn’t considered that the mudslides would move the rocks.

She tripped, instinctually turning to her side to protect the egg and baby, landing hard.  She felt a crack in her shoulder.  

Not careful enough.

The Charmander yelped, and she checked him and the egg over, ignoring the shifting bones.  

Later, it can be dealt with later, it can heal, the baby Pokemon can’t make it out without help.

They were okay, if not a bit muddy.  She contemplated her next move, it would be hard to get up in the mud with just one arm.  As she lay there, she heard a worried trill.

Her Kabutops!  It inclined its head, a way to ask if she was okay.  He hadn’t gotten the command to stay inside.  He probably had been busy evacuating his own little entourage of water Pokemon that followed him and had heard the commotion of her fall.

She looked up at him, mostly a silhouette in the rain.  He was old, but his battle scars and chips in his armor gave away his experience.  Retired, but not completely out of the game.  Rock and water type, sturdy enough to get through the rain, agile enough to not get tripped up, not like her.  Plus, with Swift Swim he would make it fine in the storm.  

...  Hopefully.

She untied the pouch clumsily and pried the Charmander off of her as it protested, holding them out.

“Kabby.  Take them to the house.”

The Kabutops clicked as it lowered its head.  She intuited the meaning.  I do not want to leave you.  

She summoned a more commanding voice.  “Please, I’ll be fine.”  She smiled, hoping it couldn’t see the worry in her eyes.

He hesitated a few moments before relenting with a nod, grabbing her precious cargo and disappearing into the night.  She prayed it would be okay.  She couldn’t forgive herself if she hurt another one of her charges, not again. 

She shakily stood, ignoring the pain.  Without the extra weight it was easier, but only just.  The Pokemon were safe now but...  She had to double check the buildings, she had to, she couldn’t trust that they were fine.   

Memory isn’t reliable enough.

It was while she was getting her bearings that she felt the impact.

She opened her eyes again against the outside hatchery wall, a tree branch sharpened by cracking off an old tree protruding from her chest.  Fuck.  She grasped at it weakly.  She inhaled a gurgling breath before coughing up something red.  Not blood, couldn’t be blood.  

Don’t have blood.

... Did have pain receptors, though, and damn it fucking hurt.  Another breath, more coughing, more red getting blown away in the wind, heaviness, broken ribs.  The damned thing was decently thick too, some sort of hardwood.  Oak?  She didn’t know plants that well.  ...  Didn’t really matter anyway.

Lucky shot, wind.

Her hands were shaking, cracks formed up her arms, sucking in the color and any light that flashed from the sky.  These stupid things, every time she was stressed they spread up her arm, starting from their normal position on her palms.  Hopefully they recede again later.

Focus.

She gripped the piece of tree.  Medical knowledge nagged at her to not take it out, that it would cause more damage.  

No other choice.  No one is coming.

She dug her claws into the tree, sinking them into the wood.  She took the deepest breath she could muster with her one working lung.

And she pulled.

The pain was excruciating.  She felt ripping, hollowness, suction.  She ignored the buzzing in her ears.  Heat built inside her head and chest, though her fingers were growing colder.  God, the texture was awful, knife wounds were so much smoother, albeit very, very cold.  Her grip was weakening.

Keep going.

She grit her teeth and roared out into the darkness, and with a horrible wet ripping sound, the branch was extracted.  She tried to not think of the roughness of it, how much it must’ve cut up, how much worse off she probably was now.  She threw the branch to the side, teeth bared in a snarl as if it were still a threat.  Something mixed with the cold rain that slid down the new hole in her shirt, something warm.  

You have been through worse.

She took a step.  So heavy.  She felt like she was going to throw up.  The edges of her vision filled with black and white stars.

You will not perish.

Another step.  Dragging her feet against her will.  Lead felt like it was filling the hollow cavity that had been left behind. 

I will not let you.

Step.

Step. 

She wasn’t even sure if she was going in the right direction.

Step.

Step.

Trip.

Get up.

At this point, it didn’t even feel like she was moving with her own free will.  So heavy.  ...  Keep going forward, keep going forward.

Step.  

Step.

The journey felt blessedly short and painfully long at the same time.  A blur that she was aware of.  Soon the house was in view.  Safety.  Her confidence filled her with enough energy to take the last few steps.

The door flew open, the man she called her roommate almost looked worried.  She ignored his shouting, staring behind him.  Her eyes scanned what little she could see of the inside.  Mr. Kabby was there.  So was the Charmander wrapped in a towel, holding a pink egg.

We’re here.

Shilo collapsed, her blood mixing with the rain.

[awordsmith]

omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader  when? s8  category: smut  content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure...  word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet. 

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting. 

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself. 

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication. 

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits. 

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?” 

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out. 

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?” 

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered. 

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that. 

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game. 

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light. 

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table. 

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ‘who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors. 

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He’d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long. 

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast. 

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether. 

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe. 

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep. 

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth. 

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so. 

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.” 

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed. 

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’? 

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact. 

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him. 

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting. 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[risuola]

(nsfw) there we go again, imagine... you're a contract killer, fresh in the field but so damn talented. you have an aim better than most other, well seasoned killers, you're able to fool anybody with your looks because who's gonna suspect a nice little lady like yourself to commit such horrendous crimes? blood doesn't suit your knuckles, it doesn't belong on your skin, but when it gets there, Toji's fucking hard — and so is Shiu, your boss. you have a way of carrying yourself, you always push Shiu's buttons, play on his nerves and you're always able to negotiate the best possible conditions for your jobs. he has a very soft spot for you, you flutter your eyelashes and run your hand along his thigh and he's whipped. is sex with your boss professional? no, but again, you're a contract killer. murder is also not the most courteous job. and then, there's Toji. he's your competition but he cannot help but get so impossibly hard whenever you shot him a glance. he likes how feisty you are, and once he saw how you beat down a grown ass men with your bare fists, straddling the poor guy with your delicious thighs and it's been his fantasy ever after — he'd pay to have you on top of him like that, to have your ass bounce on his cock, fuck, he'd even love to be punched by you. you're stealing jobs from him, earning his money but how can he possibly be mad at you when you suck his cock so. damn. good. you're a natural — in the killing scene and in bed and both Toji and Shiu can't help but be drawn to you.

[boywhoswaiting]

Two/Jamie - Back To The Old House

[riddle-me-ri]

Omg I just saw the request for the reader lovingly staring at all the different Penguins and telling them it’s because they’re handsome and it was so cute, my heart nearly exploded!!! Is it ok if I ask for the same thing with all the different Scarecrows please? If not, that’s completely fine! If it is ok, take all the time you need! Have a great day/night ❤️

a/n: aww sure thing! some scarecrows definitely take it a bit better than others lol also sorry if I may have skipped a couple of the straw boys..I worry about getting too repetitive with these

Content Warning: none that I can think of

The Scarecrows Catching Reader Staring at Them

Arkhamverse Scarecrow:

- After looking through the corners of his eyes he can only confirm his suspicions.

- You were indeed staring at him.

- Jonathan is perplexed at the reason but annoyed at the sensation.

- He hopes your attention is drawn to something else.

- But alas, you seem lost in his presence.

- Jon insists you tell him what you need or please stop staring at him..it's quite rude.

- Your face flares in embarrassment, stuttering about how you don't need anything. He just looked handsome while he worked.

- Now it's his turn to be a little flustered.

- Jon just shakes his head and tells you not to be ridiculous, even as a small satisfied smirk lifts on the side of his face you don't see.

BTAS Scarecrow:

- For once, it seems you have turned the tables.

- Jonathan does a double take, just to be sure he isn't mistaken.

- He looks behind him a couple times to ensure you aren't gazing past him to some other professor.

- Jon nibbled his lip. Should he ignore it or investigate?

- Maybe you're daydreaming, and your eyes seem to focus on him?

- Jon called your name questioningly, and it snapped you out of your reverie.

- You apologized profusely, and no matter what excuse you tried to give, it sounded wrong, so you were honest.

- Jonathan immediately averted his gaze, not able to handle your truth.

- Him? Handsome? With his nose and shaggy hair?

- He does find strength to quietly say thank you before scurrying away to take in this new information…

- Perhaps there's an opportunity here.

Fear State Scarecrow:

- Jonathan doesn't even notice you're staring for the longest time.

- It's not until he's noticed you literally haven't moved an inch from your spot.

- He's frustrated at first, what's got your head in the clouds? There's much work to be done!

- When he snaps you out of it, you struggle to catch back up to what was happening.

- You could tell Jonathan was frustrated with you.

- You thought perhaps if you told him what and why you were staring, it'll calm him?

- When you tell him you were distracted by his handsomeness; he freezes.

- Not sure to be frustrated or flustered.

- He calmly but sternly reminds you of your task at hand before leaving the room.

- To not pose as a distraction to you and to get him a chance to control his fat beating heart.

Year One Scarecrow:

- Genuinely doesn't think much of it at first.

- Jonathan thinks you're daydreaming until he realizes your eyes follow his form throughout the room.

- The attention does cause him to blush slightly. What is he supposed to do?

- Does he stare back? Should he say something? Is there something you want to say?

- Thankfully you seem to notice Jonathan staring back at you and it snaps you back to reality.

- You apologize for making him uncomfortable–you were just admiring his features.

- Jonathan is too stunned for words…but it would explain the soft gaze you held.

- You apologize once more and try to get back to what you were doing.

- Although truth be told you were just embarrassed for getting caught.

Masters of Fear Scarecrow:

- Jonathan could feel your eyes bore into him from behind the current book he was reading.

- Even though it's through a series of stutters, he asks why you're staring, quicker than other Scarecrows who spend some time doubting what they're seeing.

- It's your turn to blush and try to shy away from your actions…

- You were so sure he wouldn't catch you with his nose stuck in a book.

- You're left with no choice but to be honest and tell him you found him incredibly endearing partaking in his favorite pastime.

- The ex-professor tries to hide his blush behind the pages.

- He mumbles something about how you shouldn't tease him like that.

- But you deny ever doing such a thing. You were speaking from the heart.

Happy Halloween, Scooby-Doo Scarecrow:

- Most likely the only Scarecrow that is fully aware of what you're doing.

- And absolutely relishes in it.

- He’s picked up on this habit of yours whenever you don't have anything to occupy yourself with.

- Will tease you constantly about it

- “Take a picture, it'll last longer.”, “Stare at me any longer and you'll burn a hole right through me.”

- It frustrates you…

- Both his teasing and the fact that you find yourself staring at him while time trickles away.

- When you first stared at him, it did fluster him but he quickly took it as a source of flattery when you told him why you did it.

- Now he welcomes your stares openly, and may even get his feelings hurt if you ever occupied your attention anywhere else.

Harley Quinn: The Animated Series Scarecrow:

- Jonathan's immediate reaction is one of concern.

- He wonders if you're trying to get his attention in some subtle way.

- When he approaches and hastily asks if something is wrong, it takes you a minute to respond.

- You're confused with his concern but when he explains how you just stared at him…he assumed you needed him for something.

- Now you're embarrassed to cause him to worry…and the fact that you just stared at him for so long without realizing.

- You try to dismiss his concern, but appreciate his efforts nonetheless…

- However, that didn't quite suffice for him, he wanted to know why you stared at him so intently…

- As if you two were the only people in the large community room filled with villains.

- “You just…look very handsome…” You fidget with your fingers nervously as you felt no reason to keep the truth from him.

- Jonathan is grateful for his mask at that moment. It got to hide the blushing red that rose to his cheeks.

- He still manages to thank you for your compliment and happily returns one to you, both of you beaming in delight at each other.

[ri-writes-if]

working on the first draft. wrote "you won't need to fight or kill" like a liar I am

[crouton-knight]

Things I have looked up for this fic

ukiyo-e prints

hanafuda cards and seasonal symbolism

summer flowers and their symbolism

japanese bush warbler diet

Things that show up explicitly in the fic

Kon hears a bird and thinks "It must be getting fat on all the bugs coming up from the rain."

Writing is hard. At least this is probably on-brand for this fandom. 😅

[adhdtsukasa]

prosekai au where everything is absolutely the same except niigo, instead of being a music circle, is a fanfiction writing-ish group. kanade is a writer, mafuyu is her beta reader, ena makes fancomics based on kanade's fanworks and mizuki makes trailers for upcoming fics. and basically that's it. niigo lore but everything revolves around them being wattpad ao3 users

[gemsofthegalaxy]

Jinx vs Powder, which is it? - Discussing the Present Moment and lack of an "end state"

Upon watching Season 2 I was a bit conflicted on the idea of Powder vs Jinx, and in thinking about it, the conundrum reminded me of some gripes I've seen many people reference about the season as a whole, which I will get into as this analysis goes on. First off, though, I didn't know how to feel on the whole Powder vs Jinx idea. The show makes such a huge deal of it in Season 1 and it ends with the "resolution". it's Jinx. Powder is gone, fell down a well, the final time.

Only for this conflict to continue on in Season 2, be a constant push and pull when we felt like the question was answered already! Jinx is Jinx, walks through life a shell of a person for a bit, then Isha comes into her life and throws everything into question. She has something to care about, someone to love, which feels a little more like ol Powder, and then that increases again and again by the reemergence of Vander, who calls her Powder, on top of the fact that months after declaring each other "no longer sisters", Vi's back in her life and they're getting along again, just like that.

This, of course, gets ripped out from under her again in no time as well. Jinx drops to her lowest point, Vi tries to save her, she forsakes her and runs away and tells her not to worry about her anymore. She knows, now, there's no good version of her, everyone who gets close to her gets hurt or dies. This happens, again and again.

Then, Ekko comes back after a whole episode dedicated to him meeting AU Powder. Powder as she could have been, as we might even think we want her to be. A Powder with a loving family and a good measure less trauma in her life. In some ways, this might affirm the idea that this is Powder, and our Jinx is Jinx. But we also see that this version of Powder reignites Ekko's hope in our Jinx, even though we know the reason they're so different is she hasn't lived that same life.

So. Ekko convinces Jinx, somehow, they can always build something new. What he means is she can always try again. She said, hours ago, possibly not even, "there's no good version of me" and Ekko (even having not heard that) says "bullshit, I just saw a version of you that was good." And then there's another aspect to it, AU Silco's message: there's no greater power than to forgive. Ekko forgives Jinx, forgives himself for giving up on her, and wants her to forgive herself. Now, it might have been nice to see more of this conversation, but, I think we can infer that all the lessons Ekko took from the AU verse were things he would at least start trying to instill upon Jinx. To plant the seed, if you will, that she can forgive herself, she can build something new, she can be whoever she damn well wants to be. Powder, Jinx- does it really even matter? What she calls herself is beside the point. What matters is what she's doing now, and what she ends up doing is joining Ekko in the fight.

I watched a great video essay that dissected a bit of Ekko's character and one of the reasons he's so good-hearted is that he is present-focused. In fact, he's one of the only characters who is present-focused and remains so most of the time. Powder/Jinx, and Vi, they're stuck in the past. Viktor and Jayce are trying to force the future to come towards them, Silco's also obsessed with making a future dream happen while allowing his past to harden him to all connection outside of Jinx, Heimerdinger is so far in the future he can't understand the day-to-day issues small or large that humans face. Ekko cares about what is happening now. He's a man of action. And his power, his z-drive, also exemplifies how things can change, moment-to-moment, he goes back in time briefly so he can make the best of the exact present he's in and get it right.

Which actually speaks to something bigger in Season 2 I've seen people have gripes about, how some conflicts get resolved very easily between characters with a lot of tension between them, mostly Cait and Vi, and how longstanding political issues get dropped for bigger political plots. I've talked about why Vi reacts how she does to Cait in the prison cell scene, but I haven't touched on when they meet at the commune, but I think it also sort of fits well into the theme of present-focused = morally good. Cait has been on a descent into worse behaviour, but, she's been waffling too. She doesn't fully trust Ambessa or know where she lies on matters. So, the moment she sees Vi again, she's given a new option, a new out, and she makes use of it rather than mince words about who did what or why. I don't necessarily think this is a bad thing, and Vi, as someone who appreciates action and is protective, would also probably see this favourably (although, they do get around to arguing a bit more later, which I think is fitting)

Now, I understand why people are frustrated that the Piltover vs Zaun conflict takes a backseat. It's something that I do think could have been handled better, but, I also feel like I understand a bit what they were going for here. Yes, they've been embroiled in this conflict for a long time, but right now, in this moment, if they don't stand together they're that much more likely to lose. You can't fight for the existence of a nation that was wiped off the very map by an outside force.

Again, being present-focused and dealing with what is happening now is the only way to deal with Noxus marching on them. They cannot continue to worry about locking Jinx up or striking a deal for independence, again, there's not gonna be a nation of Zaun if Noxus takes over, either. I get why this is frustrating, but, I think it's realistic and I don't think it's counter to the story they've been telling, especially not in Season 2.

The whole Jinx vs Powder thing doesn't get to be tied up with a little bow on it, because Powder will always, always, always be what Jinx was named as a baby, and she will never not have been a child called Powder with the same blue hair she has now. There's no version of her (in Arcane, anyway) who wasn't insecure and brainy as a child and didn't go through some heartbreaking stuff. Silco told her to let Powder die, because he let his former self die and it made him stronger- but did he really? He still wistfully sits at Vander's statue, pours out a drink for him, and laments over fatherhood. Does that sound like a man who has left Vander in the past? As well, he's still desperately afraid of losing Jinx, showing there's something of the humanity left that he clings to. If Silco was alive to meet Vander's new form, surely they would have had words, even for all Silco said he was a changed man. Maybe they would have even had the power to forgive, AU Silco did.

The thing is, for as long as Jinx is alive, she will be inventing herself every day, for the rest of her life, she doesn't just get to decide she's "done" now. We are all the sum of everything we've ever done + what we decide to do in this moment. We all carry our histories into what we do next. There's no final state of being a person who's still alive and breathing, things will always change, new experiences will happen and shape us or give us new ideas or affirm our previous thoughts. This is also true on a societal level, no country or city or town stays completely static, there is no Done, the world just keeps on turning and things will develop, systems will rise and fall and be torn down and be built up.

As long as we're alive, there's always a chance to build something new.

[finniestoncrane]

~ soft love prompts ~

🐚 - giving you a trinket that reminded them of you

🦩 - having them sing/speak romantic lyrics to you

👄 - gentle kisses in your favourite spot

🎀 - brushing yours/their hair until they fall asleep

👚 - finding you sleeping in/with their clothes

👛 - saving up so they can spoil you for a whole day

🩰 - dancing together, alone, with no music

🖍 - receiving a love letter so sweet that you hold it to your chest

🩹 - patching up a little owie and kissing it better

🍨 - two spoons for the dessert please! we're sharing

🧁 - baking them their first homemade cake for a birthday

🌷 - giving you a bouquet of your favourite flowers

🌺 - having them place a flower behind your ear

🏩 - spending a giggly night in a romantic theme hotel

💗 - confessing their love to you during an intimate moment

[graynvmbr]

Heart of the Hollow | Harry Potter

pairing: harry james potter x female!reader (no use of y/n)

summary: family life with Harry

word count: 3.5k

The morning sun crept over the cottage in Godric's Hollow, casting soft beams across the bedroom where Harry lay peacefully beside you. His face, softened in sleep, held the same quiet intensity that had always drawn you to him. His hair fell messily over his forehead, and one hand remained loosely entwined with yours from the night before. You couldn’t resist tracing a gentle finger along his knuckles, feeling a surge of warmth at the small contented sigh he let out in response.

Before long, a small, familiar sound floated down the hallway: Lily was awake, her soft coos signalling she was ready for her morning feed. You slipped out of bed, reluctant to disturb Harry but eager to tend to your youngest. As you crept toward the nursery, you glanced back to find Harry’s eyes now partially open, a sleepy smile playing on his lips.

"Is she up already?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes. “I swear, she must sense you’re awake the second you are.”

“She knows what she wants,” you said with a smile, leaning over to brush his messy hair back. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You padded softly down the hall to Lily’s room, her coos turning to delighted gurgles the moment you lifted her from her crib, her tiny face lighting up with recognition. “Good morning, my sweet girl,” you whispered, cradling her close as you settled into the rocking chair by the window. Lily latched on easily, her little fingers curling around yours, and you savoured the gentle sounds she made as she nursed, her wide, trusting eyes locked on you. You could hear the faint creak of the bed and soft footsteps padding down the hallway as Harry rose to start the morning.

When you made it to the kitchen, Harry was already up, moving about with the ease of someone who had made a habit of early mornings and breakfast routines. Soon, the smell of pancakes and hot chocolate filled the kitchen, making the cottage feel even cosier.

“Good morning to my two favourite girls,” he said, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your forehead before turning back to the stove. “Want some hot chocolate, or tea?”

“Some tea would be lovely.” you felt Lily shift in your arms, her little face brightening as she took in the cosy kitchen, her eyes wide with wonder. Just then, two sets of footsteps pattered down the stairs as James and Will made their way into the kitchen, both boys still in their pyjamas, but wide awake. At six, James was always the first to spring into action, darting over to Harry’s side to ask, “Daddy, can I help with breakfast?” He was quick to start mixing the batter, his determination and eagerness making you smile. James had inherited Harry’s adventurous spirit, always brimming with energy and ideas. You often found him with an imaginative “quest” in mind, ready to take on the world—qualities that made him his father’s son through and through.

Will, on the other hand, stayed close to your side, reaching up for a hug as he shyly took in the morning scene. At four, he was more reserved than his brother, his quiet presence a soft, gentle contrast to James’ exuberance. As you balanced Lily in one arm, you wrapped the other around Will’s shoulders, feeling his little body relax against you. His sensitivity made him especially attuned to his family, and he tended to linger nearby, content just to be close. “James, you want to help set the table with your brother?” Harry suggested, handing him a couple of plates. James took them eagerly, marching to the table with a serious expression.

“Come on, Will,” James said, beckoning his younger brother with a grin. “We have a big mission this morning!”

Will’s face brightened, and he looked to you for encouragement. You gave him a nod, and he scampered off after James, who was already arranging the plates with a soldier’s precision.

Once the table was set, everyone gathered around for breakfast. Harry poured you a cup of tea, his hand lingering on yours with a warmth that spread through you. James, always eager, launched into a story about his plans for the morning, complete with sweeping gestures and sound effects, while Will listened intently, a small smile on his face as he took in every detail. Little Lily, now in your lap, watched her brothers with wide eyes, content to be part of the family’s lively breakfast.

“I’m going to build a huge fortress in the living room,” he announced with excitement, his hands flying in wide arcs as he described it. “It’ll be so strong, no dark wizard could ever get through!”

Harry grinned, nodding encouragingly. “That sounds like an impressive fortress, Jamie. You’ll have to show me when I get back.”

Will listened intently to his brother, his eyes wide with admiration. “Can I help, James?” he asked quietly, and James nodded with a proud grin.

“Of course! Every fortress needs a good guard,” he declared happily.

Lily watched her brothers with wide eyes from your lap, her small hands reaching out occasionally as if trying to join in on the conversation. You stroked her soft hair, feeling a wave of warmth at the sight of your family, all together in this little kitchen.

When breakfast was over, Harry kissed each of the kids goodbye before pulling you aside, his hand resting gently against your cheek as he met your gaze. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, his voice soft. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You leaned into him, savouring the quiet intimacy of the moment, before reluctantly letting him go. As he left for the Auror office, you settled in with the kids for the day, Lily nestled comfortably in her bassinet in the living room while you worked at the desk, grading assignments and responding to owls from your colleagues.

James, ever the adventurer, spent the morning flitting around the living room, narrating his latest “mission” to protect the family from invisible “dark wizards.” Lily watched with fascination, her tiny face following his every move.

“Look out, Mum! Dark wizard on the left!” James called, darting in front of you with his “wand” at the ready—a stick he’d picked up from the garden the other day.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Jamie!” you replied with a laugh, playing along. “Whatever would we do without such a brave protector?”

James beamed at you, puffing out his chest. “Don’t worry, Mummy. I’ll keep everyone safe.”

Meanwhile, Will played quietly nearby, stacking blocks and arranging toys in neat rows. Occasionally, he glanced over at Lily, reaching out to gently pat her hand, his soft-spoken nature drawing a smile from you.

When lunchtime arrived, you called everyone to the kitchen and settled them around the table. James, still caught up in his imaginary world, dove right into his food, barely pausing between bites to add more details to his story. “Even heroes need to eat,” he announced. Will listened intently, a quiet smile on his face as he looked between you and his brother. Little Lily was nestled in her high chair beside you, making soft sounds as she kicked her legs happily.

In the afternoon, the garden called to you, so you bundled up the children and stepped outside. James immediately took off running, his laughter filling the air as he explored each corner of the garden, his boundless energy sparking with every step. Will, as usual, stayed close, his small hand wrapped around yours, taking comfort in your presence. Occasionally, he glanced up at Lily, who you held close in a soft wrap against your chest, her curious eyes following her big brother’s every move.

James bounded up to you after a while, his face flushed with excitement. “Mummy! Look at all the leaves!” he said, gesturing to a pile of autumn leaves in the corner of the yard. “Can we jump in them?”

You nodded with a grin. “Go for it, love. But remember to be careful!”

With a whoop of joy, James dashed forward, flinging himself into the pile with abandon. Will, more hesitant, looked up at you with a questioning smile. “You can jump too, Will. Go on,” you encouraged him, squeezing his hand.

Will smiled, letting go of your hand as he joined James in the leaf pile. They both rolled around, laughing and tossing leaves in the air, their faces lit up with pure joy. Lily watched them intently from her spot in the wrap, her little fists waving as if she wanted to join in.

 As the sun began to dip lower, you brought everyone back inside just as Harry returned home. The kids’ voices filled the air with shouts of “Daddy!” as they ran to greet him.

“Hey, everyone!” Harry said, kneeling down to pull both boys into a hug. He listened patiently as James launched into a spirited retelling of his “fortress-building” mission, nodding with genuine admiration. Will shyly tugged on Harry’s sleeve, guiding him over to a small tower of blocks he’d built. Harry, with his usual attentiveness, listened to each of them in turn, offering an encouraging word or an affectionate squeeze of the hand.

You took the chance to prepare dinner, listening to their voices from the kitchen. Every so often, you glanced over to see Harry helping the boys with a new game or lifting Lily into his arms, making her giggle with delight. Seeing him with the children—so gentle and attentive—never failed to warm you, a reminder of all the qualities that had made you fall in love with him years ago.

Once dinner was ready, you all gathered around the table, laughter and conversation filling the air as you shared the day’s stories. James was still in “protector” mode, describing his “battle” against the “dark wizards” with great enthusiasm. Harry played along, nodding seriously as if every word was of the utmost importance.

After dinner, you led the boys upstairs, their footsteps pattering along the hardwood floor as they eagerly bounded toward the bathroom. Bath time was one of their favourite parts of the evening—a chance to wind down from the day, splash around, and fill the room with laughter.

In the bathroom, you filled the tub, the warm water quickly steaming up the small room. James, always the adventurous one, tossed his bath toys first—a few little boats, a rubber duck, and a miniature dragon he’d brought in as his “protector.” Will, more thoughtful and gentle, placed his toys in carefully, lining them up along the edge of the tub.

James was the first to hop in, splashing the water with a mischievous grin. “Look, Mum! I’m a sea monster!” he shouted, thrashing his arms around dramatically.

“Oh no, a sea monster! What are we going to do?” you teased, trying to shield yourself from the water that was already starting to splash over the sides.

Will, watching his brother, gave a small smile, then picked up the rubber duck and held it in front of James. “But there’s a hero duck to stop the sea monster!” he said, his quiet voice full of conviction.

“Ah! The hero duck!” James played along, pretending to dive underwater to escape the rubber duck’s “attack,” which set both of them giggling.

Meanwhile, Harry came in, carrying Lily in one arm. He chuckled at the sight of James, who had resurfaced dramatically with his best “monster face.” Harry gave a small laugh, bouncing Lily a bit to keep her entertained. “You sure you’re not scaring your sister, James?”

James grinned up at his father, his eyes bright. “She’s not scared of anything, Daddy! She’s like… the bravest baby ever!”

You chuckled, reaching out to pat his head. “Well, lucky for us, we’ve got plenty of brave protectors around here.”

After bath time, you dried Will off first, wrapping him in his favourite soft, fluffy towel. He snuggled close, looking up at you with sleepy eyes, clearly ready for the cosiness of bedtime. Whilst you took Will to his room, Harry stayed in the bathroom with James and Lily.

Carrying Will to his room, you felt his little arms wrap tighter around your neck, and he gave a contented sigh as you settled him into bed. As soon as he was under the covers, he scooted over to make room for you, his hand patting the bed invitingly.

“Mummy, will you tell me the story about the wise owl?” he asked, his voice a sleepy whisper as he clutched his favourite stuffed hippogriff.

You smiled and lay down beside him, tucking the blankets around him as you began. “Once upon a time, in the heart of a magical forest, there was an old, wise owl named Olwyn who knew all the secrets of the trees and stars…”

As you spoke, Will’s eyes grew wide, his little hand reaching for yours. You let him hold your fingers, his grip soft but firm, a gentle reminder of his trust in you. Every so often, he’d interrupt, asking in a hushed voice, “Did Olwyn really see the dragon?” or “What did the stars tell him?” You could see his love for stories blossoming, just as yours had as a child.

After a few more questions, his eyes finally started to droop, and he snuggled deeper under his blankets, still holding your hand. You stayed there, quietly humming a lullaby until his breathing grew slow and steady.

With a gentle kiss on his forehead, you whispered, “Sweet dreams, my wise little owl.” You slipped out of his room, softly closing the door, his peaceful face lingering in your mind as you made your way to James’ room.

James, of course, was still awake, lying under his covers but clearly wide-eyed and waiting. He shot you a grin the moment you entered.

“Mum! Can we talk about the Dragon Quest tonight?” he whispered excitedly, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

You sat down beside him, returning his eager smile. “Of course! So, tell me, brave dragon-slayer, what’s the plan?”

James’ eyes sparkled as he launched into the details of his “mission” to rescue the golden scales and protect the kingdom. His hands waved in the air as he animatedly described how he’d outwit the goblins and cross the enchanted river without falling in.

Harry appeared in the doorway, catching the last of James’ “plans,” and leaned against the doorframe, chuckling. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, Jamie,” he said, crossing over to ruffle his son’s hair.

James grinned up at his dad, pleased to have both of you there. “Daddy, maybe one day you can come with me! I could show you all the secret passages.”

“I’d be honoured,” Harry said with a smile, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you.

Together, the two of you listened as James drifted further into his fantasy world, his excitement mellowing as sleep began to pull him in. When his eyes finally grew heavy, you bent down to kiss his forehead.

“Goodnight, my brave knight,” you whispered, gently brushing a lock of hair from his face.

Finally, you returned to the nursery, where Lily was awake and waiting for her final feeding, her tiny hands reaching up the moment you stepped into the room. She gave a small, happy coo as you lifted her into your arms, already content with the warmth of your presence.

Settling into the rocking chair, you began to nurse her, her tiny fingers curling around yours as she looked up at you with wide, trusting eyes. Her soft, sleepy sounds filled the quiet room, and you rocked back and forth, humming softly as she fed, the peacefulness of the moment settling over both of you.

When she’d had her fill, you cradled her against your chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as she drifted to sleep. You lingered there, savouring the sweet scent of her hair, the warmth of her tiny body nestled close, until you knew she was completely asleep.

With the gentlest touch, you laid her down in her crib, brushing a tender kiss on her forehead. You stood by her crib for a moment, watching her sleep, feeling a quiet sense of awe at the love you felt for each of them and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for this life, this home, this family.

Once the kids were finally tucked in, you returned to the living room, feeling the soft, calming warmth that settled over the house. Harry was waiting on the couch, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. He opened his arms, inviting you to nestle beside him, and you sank into his embrace, letting out a sigh as you relaxed into his warmth.

Harry wrapped an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer as you settled in. For a while, you both simply sat in comfortable silence, listening to the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the old cottage. His hand traced gentle circles along your back, the familiar, grounding touch melting away the last remnants of the day’s busyness.

“It’s quiet now,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, with a smile that held a mix of exhaustion and contentment. “Almost feels strange, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, laughing softly. “Too quiet, but a good kind of quiet.”

Harry tilted his head, giving you that affectionate look that always made your heart skip a beat. “You were amazing today,” he said, his voice sincere. “With all of them. They’re so lucky to have you.”

You looked up, catching his gaze. “We’re both lucky, Harry. I couldn’t do any of it without you.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long, tender moment. Then he pulled back slightly, his green eyes soft and searching as they met yours.

“Remember when we used to talk about this?” he asked quietly, his hand finding yours and entwining your fingers together. “All those late nights, dreaming of what life would be like. Never thought it’d be… this perfect, though.”

You gave his hand a squeeze, feeling a swell of emotion as you thought back to those conversations, those shared dreams. “We really did talk about it all, didn’t we?” You smiled, remembering the wonder you both felt at imagining a life so full, yet so simple and grounded in love.

For a while, you both reminisced, sharing soft laughs and whispered stories, the little moments you’d almost forgotten. Harry shifted slightly, reaching to pull a blanket over the both of you, settling it around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

Eventually, his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing a tender line along your jaw as he looked at you with that deep, quiet intensity that always seemed to reach right into your heart. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. There was no rush, just a quiet passion, a warmth that spoke of all the love and history you’d built together. His fingers moved gently through your hair, cradling your head as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer as if to savour every second.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand. His thumb traced gentle circles along the back of your hand, and you felt entirely wrapped up in him, in the shared closeness of the moment.

Harry brushed a few stray hairs back from your face, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder as he looked at you, a soft smile playing at his lips. “What would we do without these little moments?” he murmured, his voice warm and filled with a kind of wonder.

“Get a little more sleep, probably,” you teased, a playful grin spreading across your face.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.”

After a few quiet moments of gentle conversation, you both grew quiet again, simply resting in each other’s arms. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your shoulder, your breaths settling into an easy, shared rhythm as you let the peacefulness wash over you.

Finally, he scooped you into his arms, lifting you as he stood, and with a smile, he carried you to bed, where you nestled under the covers together. With his arms wrapped securely around you and your head resting on his chest, you drifted off to sleep, feeling a deep, contented love that only seemed to grow with every shared moment.

back to my harry potter masterlist

[origamihoshi]

I could have been reading the update but instead I drew my MC, Malachi from @ri-writes-if's game The Abyssal Song.

it was so hard to pick from the different demon forms, but I ended up choosing the Puppeteer becasue birds. and who wouldn't want to be a flock of birds? Poor oracle just wants to not lose her mind and maybe live a good life, but at this point it feels like nothing is making that easy for her. And that's not even going into her catching feelings for the Sovereign.

really anxious demon is not having a good time.

[wiserebeltiger]

Rhode Island is a place where the stupidest, most obvious psychos get away with the stupidest, most obvious crimes.

[risuola]

I got offered a promotion... it's great, I'll earn more but also I'll be rooting myself deeper into the hellish corporation that is my workspace.

[ree-duh]

the way ppl feel the need to immediately paint POC men as abusive towards yt women needs to be studied

A MoC could be nothing but nice and cordial and still be read as aggressive and predatory simply for existing next to a white woman not because of their actions but because a lot of yt people inherently see them as a threat